


Salvage Operation

by silverr



Series: YMMV: World of Warcraft Tales [2]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Action & Romance, Action/Adventure, Ancient Technology, F/F, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Prompt Fic, Quest, Sweet Payback, Uldum
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-21
Updated: 2012-03-01
Packaged: 2017-10-30 03:27:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/327248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverr/pseuds/silverr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cynical and solitary, dark rogue Vaska is hired by Belloc Brightblade to retrieve certain items from the Twilight's Hammer cultists at the Obelisk of the Moon. While dodging cultists, dragons, Schnottzis, and assassins, Vaska finds a bit more than she expected.</p><p>(Note: though not tagged as such, this story turned into a quasi-AU of <i>Bound</i>.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Pitch

**Author's Note:**

> From a prompt at [Warcraft Kink Meme](http://warcraftkink.livejournal.com/588.html#comments) (which is where the initial version of Chapters 1-5 were posted as anonymous fills): _Female blood elf mage lezzes it up in Ramkahen with a slightly terrified but nonetheless consenting female dark elf rogue. The rogue vaguely contemplates how the phrase 'don't stick your dick in crazy' could apply to her somewhere in between a brief hurried makeout in an abandoned house and having the world's greatest fingers and tongue working her over until she can't even breathe. ~ While the dark elf is thinking too much, the blood elf is just 'I WANNA DO YOU AND I LOVE DOING YOU <3'_
> 
>  The fill didn't quite follow the prompt as much as I wanted it to, but here's hoping you'll find it enjoyable anyhow, gentle reader.
> 
> **Spoilers for Uldum. Takes place after the conclusion of Schnottz quest chains.**

_._

There were a lot of things Vaska liked about Everlook. Innkeeper Vizzie provided a bunk and meals in exchange for guarding the inn at night and filling the freezer with meat every month or two. Qia had taught her to use the comm device in the bank to take messages from the other Cartel outposts. Kilram and Lilith were old friends who understood the value of silent companionship, Izzy kept his Coppergrabby hands to himself, and the only other elf in town was actually a dragon.

It was almost the perfect setup: just enough people around to supply basic needs, and every one of them generally willing to mind their own business and leave her completely alone. Most of the time. "I said I'm not interested, Kil," she snapped.

The troll shook his head, shrugged, then ambled out of the bank and across the courtyard, returning a few minutes later with a small cauldron of stew from the inn. Vizzie followed behind with a ladle and a stack of bowls.

"Jes' don' stay hidin' forever, Vaska," Kilram said very quietly as he stretched tall to hand a bowl of stew up to where she sat on the comm platform. "You do dat, dey win."

He apparently had forgotten how sharp goblin hearing was, for Vizzie then asked, "Aw, someone break your heart, sweetie?"

"No," Vaska said, glaring at the troll. "But I'm going to break someone's _face_ in a minute."

"Violence accomplishes nothing," Lilith said in her gravelly voice as she brought down her mace on a cockroach.

"Neither does honesty or skill," Vaska said bitterly, immediately angry with herself for breaking her vow not to make any references to certain lessons she'd learned recently. "Only money and politics."

"Pishbo," Kilram said, sopping his stew with a piece of bread. "You one of da fastest blades I ever see. You gonna land on your feet and be rich and famous some day. You see. Den dat Melior and all dem dark rangers goin' come beggin' at your door. Make you dey queen."

"He's right," Lilith rasped, and Vaska snorted, but she smiled a little as well. "All right, I'll go to Gadgetzan and meet with this Belloc. But there's no guarantee I'll take the job."

.

Theoretically, she had plenty of time to think about her situation on the flight south but she chose not to, instead noting changes to the landscape. Water in places that had been dry, big fiery angry cracks in the earth—how had she missed all this? Oh, that's right. She'd been in a prison cell thanks to her her back-stabbing mentor.

So much for not thinking about it.

Gadgetzan had changed as well. It had a shipyard and a port, flight masters inside the walls. More gnomes and cannons.

The inn hadn't changed though: the same well worn tables, the same smell of hyena stew and cheap ale. There was only one customer, seated at a table in the back corner. Elf. Male, dressed in an expensive white suit and brimmed hat pulled low to hide his face. Gold jewelry glinted at his throat and wrists. If she'd seen him in Silvermoon she would have dismissed him as a generic toy, empty-headed, narcissistic, out to trade his pretty for expensive gifts... but here, in this ramshackle corner of the desert, he was probably her contact, and that suggested he might be a whole 'nother type. One she also knew quite well. The type that would count on his looks and charm to deceive people into underestimating him, who would spin lies and flattery as easily as water poured from a cup. A schemer who would never allow his hands to get dirty, but who'd be as ruthlessly vindictive as a naga if crossed or denied. Yeah, she knew the type: she'd trained under one for years.

She almost turned and left right then, but then her common sense kicked in. This stranger wasn't Melior, and after coming all this way if she didn't at least find out what the job was Vilram would _tsk_ his tusks off at her when she got back to Winterspring. Then too, even if the job was messy or far beneath her skills the gold should be good. "Belloc?"

"Who?" he said, then looked up from under the brim of his hat. She noted that the first things his unnaturally green eyes took in were the daggers at her hips and the tattoo on her hand: after that, he looked up at her face—he got points for not flinching at the scars—and said smoothly, "Yes, I'm Belloc. I didn't expect the Cartel to send such an attractive wisp of a girl as a go-between."

 _Wisp?_ Vaska almost laughed. Melior had always told clients she was a panther, calling her his little shadowmaw, requiring her wear to leathers carefully tailored to accentuate her muscles. "I'm a duskwalker," she said simply.

Belloc coughed nervously. "Ah … well, yes. Yes, more than enough for what I need. Please sit down. Would you like a drink? I've, er, never worked with a—Forsaken. Or do you prefer to be called a dark elf? Or dark rogue?" He stopped—as if he knew she wasn't going to tolerate much of his fluttering—and asked more firmly, "So what shall I call you? Why don't you sit down and have—er, would you like a drink?"

"Vaska. No. What's the job?" Decorative or not, he was filling up her boredom and irritation barrels pretty fast: she hoped he'd get to the details before she was full.

He folded his hands and said in a low voice, "I was recently hired as archeological consultant to an expedition excavating certain ancient ruins in Uldum. Our group came under attack, and in the confusion a colleague got reckless and was captured. I want you to retrieve certain items we discovered." After a moment he added with a tight, false smile, "And my colleague, of course."

"Why didn't your group get him out? Vaska asked. "Or you?" _Let me guess—you were too busy running away._

"Unfortunately, most of our group had already been killed," Belloc said. "And—well, I wanted to stay, but my associate was adamant. If we were both captured there would have been no one to go for help."

"I see." Vaska shrugged. "All right, I'll do it. Let's go."

"Oh," he said, holding up a hand. "I'm going to need time to recover from my ordeal before I throw myself back into the lion's jaws. Perhaps two or three days?"

"Two or three days from now? Your associate's corpse will be buried by the dunes by then. And your artifacts will have disappeared."

"Oh dear." He sounded politely distressed.

Vaska knew what the weasel wanted her to say next, and normally she would have made him squirm, but she wanted to wrap the contract and get away from his shiny, perfect smile before she was tempted to break his shiny, perfect teeth. "Draw me a map."

.

Belloc talked as he sketched, explaining that the artifacts—and his colleague—were likely being held in northwest Uldum near something called the Plaza of the Moon.

"Plaza? Sounds like an easy fly-and-grab."

"Impossible," Belloc said, shaking his head. "There's far too much ground and air surveillance for such a simple solution."

Vaska realized right then that not only was Belloc lying to her, he didn't mind if she knew it. She decided to play. "Surveillance? For a few crates of stolen artifacts? Odd. Who are these guys anyhow?"

Belloc was evasive. "Some cult."

Her instinct told her that there was potential for hidden profit in this job: maybe a lot, depending on how well she played her role and handled her opportunities. "All right, you're the expert. I'll stealth in." She tapped her finger on the map. "The northern approach looks good—come in from Silithus, skirt the oasis at Vir-sar, then though this temple and out onto the plaza."

"Well," Belloc propped his elbows on the table, folding his hands in front of his mouth in a ridiculously transparent tell, "I'd recommend coming in from the _south_ , actually. Follow the river from Ramkahen."

"Why?" Vaska asked. "That'll take longer, and I'll have to cross the aqueduct that borders the plaza—is it deep?"

"I don't recall it being very deep."

 _Yeah, right. Because when you're handling water in the desert, shallow containers are ideal._ "All right. I'll fly into Ramkahen and go northwest from there."

"A wise choice," Belloc said. "Although …" He looked down at the table, deliberately hiding his eyes with his hat's brim, "it might be best if you didn't mention my name."

"Oh?"

"The Ramkahen tol'vir don't like me much. They seem to sense that I'm more of a dog person."


	2. The Locale

.

Several hours later Vaska knew that her initial assessment of Belloc as a lazy viper had been right.

As she'd flown in a wide long-distance reconnaissance of the area, it was obvious that something had definitely gone down. A black drake flew in low circles around the plaza, flaming objects at random: the area around the plaza's obelisk was dotted with smoldering heaps. It looked as though she was too late to retrieve either Belloc's partner or his artifacts, but she supposed it was worth it to take a cursory look around in case there was something salvageable after all. Landing on the cliffs above the Vir'sar oasis, she studied the "back door" of the temple, its northern entrance, which was an archway at the base of a butte. The top of the cliff had a courtyard with a big statue in it and several tents set up nearby, but the encampments looked all but abandoned, and in the hour or so she observed it, she saw no one enter or leave the temple from the oasis side. Belloc had made a show of discouraging her from using this obviously superior approach, then displayed that he knew she'd use it anyhow. The question was, had he done all that because he thought she was smart, or because he thought she was stupid?

Vaska frowned. She hated Belloc's sort of twisty misty mindgame crap, at which her mentor Melior had been a virtuoso. She preferred her dangers out in the open, where she could get her hands and blades on them. Physical traps you could sniff out, dodge, disarm, but mental ones… She wondered how Belloc'd fare in a face off against Melior. It'd be entertaining, at the very least.

 _No. Stop. Don't get sidetracked._ Whether what was in the temple was a trap or a treasure didn't matter. She would be alert for either.

Settling her windrider out of sight in a tall tree, she slipped past the crocolisks and into the temple.

.

The gently sloping entry corridor she was in led to a huge room with a low, stone platform in the center, past which she could see the top half of a corridor that angled up and into daylight.

It irritated her that she hadn't yet figured out what she was missing. Belloc had to have manipulated her into entering this building for a reason – unless he was just messing with her. Maybe he just didn't like rogues? No, that couldn't be it. He'd paid her half up front, too hefty a ruse just to lure her to her death.

Unless Belloc was himself working for someone. Someone who wanted her dead.

_Ugh. Fell into the mindgame trap again._

Well… no matter who the puppetmaster was, she wasn't going to go down without a fight. She stopped just short of the doorway to the center room – which was lit by eerie glowing globes on pedestals in each corner – alert for any odd sound or motion or smell, any indication that a trap had been triggered by her entry. There was the whistling rise and fall of the wind outside, of course; a faint periodic surging sound that reminded her of wavecrests breaking on the ocean shore, and also a deep hum, so low she felt more than than heard it. After fixing these sounds in her mind, she carefully tossed out a decoy plate, which popped up and waved after a moment. Nothing happened. She tossed out a second in a different direction, and then a third, watching as each did its smiling little dance and then disintegrated into smoke and tiny splinters. Patiently she waited for even the tiniest change but there was nothing. Finally she edged through the doorway.

A shallow trough of water edged the room. There was a narrow ledge between the water and the walls, but it was was far too exposed. The area next to the platform weren't much better, but at least it had a bit of an overhang, so Vaska sprinted across the open space and melted into the sliver of shadow there.

It was mystifying and ridiculous, she thought as she moved along silently, that the ancients had made the room so large, with fancy bird-god carvings and water-ribbons on the walls, when a simple tunnel would have sufficed. She supposed it had to have something to do with the platform – which was probably an altar for sacrifices – but even then, why had they gone through the bother of hollowing out a cliff? Easier just to build it outside.

She passed a place where the stone tiles of the floor had been pried up and tossed aside, apparently not very long ago, and it was then that she became aware of how much louder the chamber had become. The surf noise now sounded like stone grinding on stone, and the humming noise was beginning to make her skin prickle.

_What the hell, Belloc._

There was a sudden noise of splashing water, seeming to come from the altar next to her. Vaska closed her eyes and concentrated, reaching out with her mind to sift invisible fingers through the air currents, picturing the angle at which sounds were bouncing off the massive stone ceiling far above… she realized with a snap that the sides of the "altar" were in fact a low stone wall around a huge opening in the floor, and it was from that opening that the sounds were coming.

She knew she should just ignore it, because whatever was beneath her was probably the thing that he had hoped she'd investigate (or not investigate, she still hadn't decided what his angle was) – but in the end her curiosity – and just a little bit of boredom – won out.

The stone wall had plenty of hand-and-foot holds: she pulled herself up easily and then looked down.

The subterranean level was a fresh mystery. It was without question the source of the sounds – which now sounded more like a grinding of heavy stone-on-stone or massive machinery – but as the only way into the depths seemed to be a steep stone slide that ended well above the floor of the level below, Vaska decided to leash her curiosity. It was her new rule: never get into something unless you also knew how to get out.

She stealthed the rest of the way to the corridor that led to the plaza.

.

_ first post 26 January 2012; rev 24 December 2016 _


	3. Picking Up a Partner

Vaska's first glimpse of the plaza from ground level was even less promising than the aerial one had been. Charred corpses and smashed crates were everywhere. The only movement came from the wind-twisted smoke and the black drake, who handed frequently: apparently destruction was very exhausting.

 _What a waste of time._ She was just turning to leave when a flash of purple in one of the tents facing the temple caught her eye.

Waiting until the drake had glided around to the southern side of the plaza, she slipped from the shadows and sprinted into the tent.

The purple was a tattered robe on the corpse of a barefoot female elf. Bound and gagged, which suggested she'd been an arcanist. A perfect face, long curling red hair, a robe designed to show off her body… what a Scarf. Somewhat odd to see one out here in the heat and dust, instead of draped on someone wealthy and powerful.

An impatient sound cut into Vaska's fuming. The corpse was staring at her with wide felglow eyes and raised brows. Startled, Vaska cut the gag.

"Gee, thanks," the blood elf said as Vaska cut the ropes at her wrists, "And here I thought you were just going to drool over me all day."

"What?" Vaska frowned.

"I'm Cyndriel," she said as she tugged the remains of the ropes off her hands. "Borrowing this!" she said, taking the dagger from Vaska's hand and starting to hack at the ropes around her ankles. "I wonder what those naughty culties did with my shoes?"

Vaska frowned and snatched her dagger back, slitting the remaining rope with a flick of her wrist before asking, "Are there any other prisoners here? Belloc said – "

"Belloc?" The blood elf was livid. "Where is is that lying, cowardly—"

And just then there was a dragon bellow, and the roof of the tent caught fire.

Without thinking of it too much Vaska pulled the other woman to her feet, then slung her over her shoulder and sprinted out of the burning tent. A wave of heat whooshed over their heads.

"Hey!" Cyndriel squawked in outrage.

Vaska headed for the temple entrance. Though the inside of the temple was huge, the entranceway was narrow enough that she didn't think the dragon would follow them.

"Hey!" the the blood elf said again, louder. "I'm on fire!"

Vaska raced through the corridor, made a sharp right turn, then slung her salvage into the reflecting pool.

.

"Well," Cyndriel said a moment later after flailing upright, "aren't _you_ resourceful?" She sat in the shoulder-deep water, fingers combing her dripping hair back from her face. "Guess I'm lucky you came along."

Vaska was surprised at the blood elf's reaction; she'd expected squeals and footstomping, not a lopsided smile. Was it possible that Cyndriel wasn't a Scarf after all? Despite the purring voice—which was already beginning to get on Vaska's nerves—the blood elf actually seemed somewhat intelligent.

And then she said, "It's been a while since I've been this wet." Her expression suggested she didn't mean the water.

"So you're Belloc's missing colleague?" Vaska said. She put just enough emphasis on the word to make it clear that she didn't think much of the collaboration. "I wasn't expecting you to be a mage."

"I'm also an actual archeologist," Cyndriel said, twisting and then knotting her hair into a messy blob on the back of her head, "not a profiteer like Belloc." She frowned. "How do you know him?"

"He hired me."

"To steal my finds?" Cyndriel folded her arms. "You're too late. Someone's already taken all the scrolls and stone relics from our excavation."

"I'm also supposed to check for survivors," Vaska said. "Anyone else out there?"

"Alive? I don't think so. Like I said, earlier today some people came in, fought the guards and the cultists, ransacked the crates, then cleared out when the dragon started flaming everything." Cyndriel shrugged. "Now what?"

"There's an oasis just north of here," Vaska said. "I'll let Belloc know you're alive. So that he can send someone to get you."

"Or," Cyndriel stood, arranging what was left of her robe, "you and I can make a profitable little side trip before you go back to wherever that bastard is hiding out." She stepped out of the pool.

The problem with wet silk, Vaska observed, was that even when it covered a person's skin, it became almost transparent and clung to the body, showing that they weren't wearing any smallclothes, or that they didn't shave their no small clothes… "Side trip?"

"Our expedition was based at a compound down the coast from here," Cyndriel said. "Commander Schnottz, the goblin who ran the place, was—well, he was extravagant. I heard that he and his troops were executed by the cultists, so I'm guessing the place will be easy pickings – if we get there before the pygmies and sand gnomes do."

"What's in it for you?"

"I had a feeling Belloc wouldn't want to share credit for our discoveries, so I before I left the compound I hid a few things. As insurance." Cyndriel looked down at her bare feet. "If I'm lucky no one will have been able to open my traveling chest while I was gone, and I can get my spare shoes and robe. Because like this I look almost _naked,_ don't you think?" She smoothed her hands over her breasts—as if the nipples under the cold, wet fabric weren't already noticeable enough and gave Vaska an inviting look.

Vaska almost rolled her eyes. No wonder Cyndriel and Belloc had been a team: they were both manipulative shits. Still, the potential of picking up free luxury goods was interesting. And she had nothing better to do at the moment. "How far down the coast is this place?" Vaska asked. "Because I doubt my windrider could carry two, let alone two with loot. Even if we _both_ were naked."

Cyndriel brightened. "Don't worry. I've got a plan."

.

The plan, apparently, was for them to liberate the hot air balloon.

"You're not serious," Vaska said.

"Of course I am," Cyndriel replied. "There probably aren't too many guards left up there."

"How many is 'not too many' ?"

"Three? Four?" Cyndriel padded across the stone floor and peered around the corner toward the plaza. "The two of us can take them."

Vaska bit the inside of her cheek and looked away to keep from laughing. Amazing how predictable people were once you figured out their angle.

"How are we going to get up there?"

"Stairs," Cyndriel said. "We'll go when Myzerian is at the other end of the plaza. Past the aqueduct he won't even notice us."

"Myzerian?"

"The dragon. I'm not giving him any more of my hair."

.

As with many plans, it was of course simpler described than carried out, but it worked better than Vaska thought it would. Out of the entrance, they dashed to the left, down the steps and then along the base of the cliff, passing behind a sunken stairwell.

As Vaska felt the heat of the sand and heard the crunch of small sharp rocks under her boots she glanced at the barefoot Cyndriel. Tougher than she looked, it seemed. "Stop," Vaska said, and squatted. "Get on."

The mage opened her mouth as if she was going to protest, but then hiked up what was left of her robe and climbed onto Vaska's back piggyback style. "Thanks," she breathed, holding her legs up as Vaska's forearms slid under her knees. The soles of her feet were red from the hot sand and bleeding from the sharp stones.

They were running toward the aqueduct now, and Vaska eyed it. Where it joined the cliff water poured out through the metal grate of a smooth stone box three times her height. It'd be easy to climb if she was alone, but she'd have to carry the mage's dead weight—if the blood elf's arms were even strong enough to hold on that long, which was unlikely. Jumping across the aqueduct was another option which also would have worked if Vaska was alone, but with a passenger… Granted, the blood elf was scrawny—her thighs weren't much thicker than Vaska's upper arms—but extra weight was still extra weight. The best option was to use the grate to cross the gap.

They were almost to the grate when Cyndriel hooked one foot over the other at the ankle, whispered "Ready?" and then, with a magical phrase, teleported them across the aqueduct.

"Nice work," Vaska said, hurrying toward the base of the huge stone staircase.

"My pleasure," Cyndriel panted into Vaska's ear.

The strength of the mage's grip had loosened noticeably, though, and Vaska realized that the cost of moving both of them must have been pretty draining. When they reached the base of the huge twisting staircase she slung Cyndriel off her back and onto a spot of shade. "Stay here, I'll scout ahead."

Cyndriel nodded, looking relieved.

The first three landings had no dangers other than flyblown pieces of dead soldiers, likely from long-range or aerial bombing. From the ripeness of the pieces Vaska was pretty sure that the two of them wouldn't have to worry about that particular kind of attack, and so she went back to and motioned to Cyndriel.

The barefoot mage hurried up the steps, holding out a small flask of water. "Figured you might be thirsty."

Vaska shook her head. "I don't eat or drink magicked items." She forced herself to smile. "No offense." It had to be the voice, she decided, that made everything Cyndriel said sound like a come-on.

"None taken," Cyndriel said, looking amused. The conjured water disappeared in a puff of sparkle. "Is it clear to the top?"

"We'll find out."

"The temple's centered around a corrupted titan construct," Cyndriel said. "Not surprising so close to the Qiraj ruins … "

Vaska wasn't paying much attention to the talking: she was more noting how well Cyndriel was matching her pace as they ran up the steps. No sign of straining or breathlessness, which was surprisingly good physical shape for a mage. In Vaska's experience most were weaklings who got out of breath turning the pages of a book.

"Sorry," Cyndriel said, "It's probably boring to you, but this whole area fascinates me—"

Vaska held up a hand for silence: there were voices and scuffling sounds on the flight of steps above them, people walking and talking normally, clearly not alert for danger.

After a moment Vaska held up two fingers and Cyndriel nodded, raising her hands as the two of them pressed into the shadow of a stone pillar.

_That's right. Spells are a mage's weapons._

Two dusty uniformed humans came around the corner, passed then, and then started to descend the next set of steps.

Vaska stepped out swiftly and hit the closer man on the back of the head with the pommel of one of her daggers, her other held ready to fight the second man…

… who transformed into a sheep before the first man hit the ground.

Cyndriel grinned at her. "Nice work."

"Hm." Vaska sprinted around the corner and up the last flight of stairs to the summit, not wanting to let the mage see her smile.

.

_posted 1 Feb 2012; rev 24 December 2016_


	4. The Goods

.

At the top of the cliff they followed a path to a walled courtyard with a black statue of a winged half-man, half-lion creature swinging a huge sword. Behind it was a final set of steps leading up to what looked like the remains of an ancient market – and more importantly, a hot air balloon, floating untethered. A rope ladder dangling a few feet above their heads was the only access.

Vaska crouched, then jumped to grab the bottom rung and pull the balloon down to them. She held the ladder as Cyndriel climbed, and then followed.

When she reached the top she saw that Cyndriel was turning the balloon's flame up, allowing it to retain its former altitude even with their added weight. And a good thing too, as there were faint shouts from below.

"I guess they woke up," Cyndriel said, peering through a small hole in the balloon's basket.

Vaska pulled up the rope ladder and crouched out of sight in the other half of the basket. "How do we navigate this thing?" she asked, not pointing out the obvious —that as soon as the balloon moved it was likely to be shot down. Unless of course the soldiers were idiots. Which was a possibility.

"The little flying crates," Cyndriel whispered as the shouts of _Where did they go?_ got louder below them.

Just then the rhythmic huffing sound of the balloon's flame bellows was overlaid with the whirring of rotor blades, and Cyndriel pointed to the sound as it passed them.

"Those?" Vaska shook her head. "Too small."

"I've seen them carry stone urns five times my weight," Cyndriel whispered, "and siege engine parts. The balloon is almost weightless when it floats, so I'll bet the crate could drag us just fine, if we could hitch onto one."

The soldiers were now almost directly below them, grumbling and cursing as they searched the courtyard. One of the soldiers commented that "those guys" must have gotten away, and Cyndriel caught Vaska's eye and grinned. It wasn't a _useful_ fact, but she noted that the mage had dimples.

Catching herself, Vaska looked away. From the sound of it the soldiers were giving up: apparently—as she'd hoped—the balloon was so familiar to them they didn't even consider its potential as a hiding place.

The voices gradually faded. After several minutes – which she spent staring at the floor, the mage's scrutiny tingling her skin like a furnace blast – Vaska inched up enough to look over the top of the basket. After verifying that the soldiers were gone, she studied the flying crates. "They just circle the courtyard."

Cyndriel made an exasperated noise. "Trust me, will you? There's a switch that sends them to the dock at Schnottz's. Snag one, I'll show you."

As the next crate passed Vaska tossed the end of the rope ladder out over the blades. The attempt wasn't successful, but by the time the next one came by she'd pulled a small dedication plaque off the rim of the basket and tied it to the bottom of the ladder for weight, and also cut one of the ladder rungs to make a bigger "hole". The propeller blades caught started twisting the rope, but Cyndriel did something that lowered the balloon just enough to pull the rope down off the blades and past the propeller shaft.

"You seem to know a lot about flying this thing," Vaska observed.

"I've used it a lot for private meetings."

_Um-hm._

With the ladder now around the heavy cable suspending the crate, after a moment they were smoothly pulled northeast, past the huge statue in the temple courtyard. When the crate made a U-turn to return to the southwest end of the temple Cyndriel braced her hands on the edge of the balloon's basket and cast small chunks of of ice at a large red button on the side of the crate until the crate paused, made a series of loud clicking noises, rotated south-southwest, and headed out over the desert.

.

"It's a lot smaller than I expected." Vaska said as the Schnottz compound emerged from the desert glare.

They were passing over a large, shallow excavation. Off to the right were two long low buildings, angled as if they'd been set up more as wind breaks than as housing. Directly ahead, near the pier and a wooden tower that seemed to be the crate's destination, a third building was flying a pirate flag.

"Only three buildings? Not a very big operation."

"We worked and slept in shifts, round the clock," Cyndriel said. "Most stayed in tents near their assigned dig. There were more than twenty active sites. The rest of us were in the two civilian barracks buildings." Cyndriel nodded at the pirate flag as she turned the balloon's flame down. "That's where Schnottz and his officers stayed. If there's anything valuable left that's where it would be."

Vaska watched the three ships anchored near the shore. No visible crew, which made her edgy. Though the compound seemed deserted, it was more likely that the two of them were heading into an ambush.

_I guess we'll see._

Once the crate had stopped Vaska cut it free of the ladder, then tied the ends of the rope to a tower strut. The balloon was far from ideal as a getaway vehicle, but at the moment it was all they had.

They shimmied down the tower and headed for the furthest of the three buildings. Vaska's first thought on entering was it did indeed look like a one-room barracks. Windowless, crowded with a dozen narrow rough-hewn beds, the only light and ventilation came from door-sized openings at either end. Her second thought was that such a dusty drab place must have been barely tolerable to someone like Cyndriel ... but then Vaska reminded herself that the mage, despite her looks and the flirting that seemed second nature, was no delicate Scarf.

Cyndriel hurried to a wooden chest at the foot of one of the beds near the desert-side doorway. Stroking her hand over the lid as she said a few magic words, she then opened the chest – which in the dim light looked as though it was filled to the top with darkness – pulled out a folded robe and a large leather bag which she tossed onto the bed, and then dug down until she pulled out a pair of short boots. Which, like the robe and the bag, were also purple.

"Everything you own is that color?" Vaska asked with a half-grin.

"Of course," Cyndriel said, pulling off the shreds of her tattered robe. "It's my favorite." Entirely and unselfconsciously naked, she closed the chest, muttering something that made the edges of the wood flicker – re-sealing with with magic, Vaska assumed. "And my trademark."  Cyndriel sat on the bed to put her boots on: the light from the compound-side doorway shone on an ornate tattoo on the inside on her left thigh. "That's why half of my friends call me Violet. Oh, don't make that face," she said as she pulled on the second boot. "I'll bet most of _your_ clothes are like what you're wearing now." She untied her wet hair and combed through it with her fingers. "Tight. Dark. Leather."

Vaska folded her arms. "Loose and bright and flimsy doesn't work for me. Leather also keeps me warm." They were not good, the thoughts she was getting, of putting her arms around Cyndriel, of kissing that delicious mouth, those perfectly-sized breasts; of tonguing the Cyndriel's navel and then letting the soft red curls tickle her nose, of dipping tongue and fingers deep, perhaps even letting…

"Your leathers are keeping _me_ warm, too." Cyndriel stood and reached for her robe. "And if you—"

There was a sudden crunch of gravel outside, on the side of the building facing Schnottz's headquarters, and as Vaska pointed to the opposite door Cyndriel grabbed her leather knapsack and her new robe. Vaska snatched up the old robe, and they darted out the door just as they heard boots on the building's wooden steps.

"It's on the map. He said she slept in here," they heard a male voice say as they hurried around the end of the building. "We shouldn't 'a wasted time in the other two shacks."

A second voice replied, "From what he said about 'er, I think she slept a _lot_ of places."

There was unpleasant laughter, and the sound of splintering wood.

.

Vaska pulled Cyndriel into the second building.

Every single wooden chest and cabinet had been broken open, their contents dumped on the beds and floor. Clearly the two men were after something, but whatever it was wasn't Vaska's priority: right now she needed to figure out where they'd come from – and more importantly, if there were more than two of them – before she decided whether to make an immediate run for the balloon.

Then too, she really wanted to give Cyndriel time to put on something other than just boots.

"They must have flown in right after we landed," Vaska said after using her tiny cornerscope, "since a small plane's appeared between the pit and the main building. I know it wasn't there when we came in. Must have followed us."

She turned around to find Cyndriel—still wearing only boots—watching her. It was the scars, Vaska knew. People couldn't help but stare at them. She steeled herself not to turn away. "What are you waiting for?" she asked. "Get dressed and let's get out of here!"

"Just in case," Cyndriel said, "just in case." And then she stepped toward Vaska.

Surprised, Vaska backed up until she was against the wall, but Cyndriel kept coming, shivering a little as she pressed herself against the leather of Vaska's tunic. She kept her arms at her sides, but tilted her face a little as if for a kiss.

"What are you doing?" Vaska whispered.

"Isn't it obvious?" Cyndriel murmured. "I want to seduce you."

A rebelliousness was boiling inside her. It had been a very long time since Vaska had done anything that felt good by choice. She was tired of suppressing her outrage over being disgraced and punished for crimes she hadn't committed, tired of not allowing herself to feel pleasure because the sensations were so tied up with memories of Melior, tired of how timid and low profile she'd made herself the last ten years. And yet, as much as Cyndriel was making her want to unleash, to be reckless, it was a good way to get killed. "You could have picked a better time," she said as she pushed Cyndriel away. "Those two outside are here to kill us."  

Cyndriel raised an eyebrow. "You don't believe me? Give me your hand, I'll prove how much I want you."

"Let me guess—you're wet? That proves nothing," Vaska said. "I've met hundreds of people who get off on danger, on the idea of getting caught." Cyndriel's single-mindedness reminded Vaska of all those who she'd met while in Melior's employ, people who wanted to be able to boast of having bedded a duskwalker, or who were aroused by the sight of a mutilated face. Such people had never been interested in her as an individual; no, all they saw were the weapons and the leathers and the scars and the darkness. Vaska would have liked to believe that this was not the case with Cyndriel, but she was a realist.

"And a lot of people cherish their misery," Cyndriel whispered with what seemed genuine frustration, "because it gives them an excuse for not being happy." She pulled on her robe. 

"You don't know me," Vaska said.

"You're right," Cyndriel said. "But you don't want me to." She now looked genuinely angry. "You're as bad as Belloc. He always liked saying 'no' to me too, because it made him feel powerful and in charge when everything was on _his_ terms, when everything happened when and how _he_ wanted it."

"Can we discuss your lovers later?" Vaska asked. "Just because those two mooks searched this building already doesn't mean they won't come back and search it again."

And then, proving her point, there were voices outside again. "We'll just tell Ebonfire they were hiding on one of the boats," one of the men said, "and that after we killed 'em their bodies fell into the water and got washed out to sea."

.

.

.

_posted 22 Feb 2012; rev 24 December 2016_


	5. The Getaway

_._

_Ebonfire? As in Melior Ebonfire?_ Vaska's pulse thudded in her throat. She took her hands away from Cyndriel and drew her dagger. "Ready?" she mouthed, and Cyndriel nodded, looking determined.

But the two men didn't come in, instead continuing to walk past. After a few tense minutes there was the high whine of an engine, and then a clatter as the plane took off.

"Well, that's a relief. Maybe they weren't after us after all," Cyndriel said. "I don't know anyone named Ebonfire."

"I do," Vaska said. "My former teacher. And sponsor." She re-sheathed her dagger. "Master Melior Ebonfire." Her hands were shaking, which made her angry.

"What a funny coincidence!" Cyndriel rolled up the tattered shreds of her old robe and stuffed it into her bag. "Wait… you look as though you don't think it's a coincidence."

"I don't," Vaska said. "It's too much of a coincidence to be a coincidence." She was puzzled. It was farfetched to think that it was her old master they were referring to, but who else could it be? And if it was him, why had he waited until now to send assassins after her? Did he think she'd finally stopped being wary and had dropped her guard, or was this simply the first convenient opening he'd had to strike? No, that couldn't be it. Although she'd traveled almost obsessively when she first got out of prison, she'd been settled in Winterspring for over a year, and regularly went out hunting alone. With all the bears, chimerae, and frostsabers in the area outside Everlook—not to mention avalanches, cave-ins, and wildkin—it would have been ridiculously easy to arrange an accident.

"Oh," Cyndriel said. "Why does this Melior want you dead?"

"He framed me," Vaska said. "Got me sent to prison."

"And he's worried you're looking for payback?" Cyndriel said lightly.

"No, he knows I'd never succeed." Vaska'd often dreamed of revenge against Melior, but she was a realist: although she knew his routines and preferences, and could recall every detail of every room of his various mansions, every single ward and trap, that knowledge was more than ten years old. Melior must know she'd never attempt retaliation, not when he had almost infinite resources and she had nothing.

Cyndriel nodded. "Sounds like he's the type who doesn't like loose ends. Why else would he have those two guys followed you here?"

"I wonder," Vaska said. She hesitated. No one who knew Melior would attempt to collect a bounty from him with such a weak story—bodies washed out to sea, how ridiculous!—which meant they'd been hired by someone else. And the only person who'd known that both Vaska and Cyndriel would be at the Temple of the Moon was Belloc.

Cyndriel got an _ah-ha_ expression. "So we both got sold out by a double-crossing skunk who's going to get a boot in the groin next time I see him," she said tartly. "What are we going to do about them? Melior and Belloc?"

"I don't know about Belloc, but Melior… " Vaska said, shaking her head. "We'll need to plan carefully. _Very_ carefully." She pointed at the door. "Let's get moving, see what's left in that other building before we leave."

Cyndriel waved her hand. "Forget it. I doubt there's anything valuable left."

"It'll only take a few seconds to look in on our way to the balloon. Think you can pilot that thing to Cenarion Hold?"

"That would be mostly up to the wind," Cyndriel said, "so instead of the balloon, let's grab something more fun."

.

Two of the three siege engines parked on the edge of the compound were low on fuel, but the third had a nearly full gauge. Cyndriel lifted the driver's shield and hopped into the driver's chair, then slid her feet into the steering stirrups. "Coming?' she asked Vaska. "Or did you want to drive?"

Vaska's instincts told her something was off. The fact that the fuel levels had taken choice out of the equation made it likely that this particular vehicle had been tampered with. And then, for the first time, she wondered if _Cyndriel_ was part of Melior's scheme as well. It certainly explained some of her more distracting behavior, as well as why two presumably highly-paid assassins had so incompetently passed them by. It was a good ploy: appear victimized, bond through sex or shared danger, and then once she had Vaska's trust…

She smiled a little and got in the gunner's seat. This job just kept getting more and more interesting.

Cyndriel flipped switches and pushed buttons and pulled back on the throttle, sending them out into the desert with a roar. "So you think Belloc told Melior where to find you?" she asked. "What about those two guys?"

"Melior never trusts that anyone will complete an assignment on the first try," Vaska shouted over the engine noise. "He always sends more than one agent or team. Those guys could have been his backup in case Belloc's plan to have me die trying to rescue you failed."

"Oh. Wait—Belloc is trying to get rid of _you_ , too?"

"I think he's made a deal with Melior to take out both of us." Vaska nodded at Cyndriel's knapsack. "You called what's in that bag your insurance. What is it?"

Cyndriel frowned. "He must have finally figured things out."

"Huh?"

"Schnottz's expedition," Cyndriel said, "hired Belloc and me as archaeological advisers. One of the things the expedition was looking for was an artifact called the Scepter of Neb'set." Cyndriel tapped one of the siege engine's dusty dials and made an annoyed face. "When Belloc talked to the Ramkahen tol'vir about the Scepter he found out that although it's been lost for millennia it's still one of their most sacred items. King Phaoris flat out refused to give Belloc any information that would help locate the Scepter, and I think even went so far as to _forbid_ him from searching for it. It's as if Phaoris knew that Belloc planned to sell the Scepter to the highest bidder."

Vaska remembered the dug-up floor tiles, and Belloc's comment about being on the outs with the Ramkahen. "He ignored the King's request."

"Yeah. From the first he flattered me every chance he got, just so he could pick my brain." She shrugged and said with a half-grin, "He said some things before I was captured by the cultists that made me think he'd narrowed the Scepter's location down to one of the three temples with obelisks."

"So your capture wasn't accidental?" Vaska wondered where Cyndriel was driving them to; the direction she was going suggested she was going to drive through the mountains to get to Silithus and the Hold.

"I'm pretty sure it was to get me out of the way. He found out from one of the workers that I was taking certain uncatalogued fragments away from the digsites. I guess he assumed I was hiding clues about the location of the Scepter."

"Were you?"

"No."

"So what _were_ you setting aside?"

"Nothing of scholarly value," Cyndriel said lightly. "But… well, even a tiny sliver of stone, if authenticated, is worth quite a bit of gold to the private collectors."

"I thought you said you weren't a profiteer."

"I'm not," Cyndriel said, then glanced at Vaska. "Oh, don't give me that look. We're not that different. We do what we need to do to make a living."

"I'm nothing like you," Vaska said, thinking of the tattoo on Cyndriel's thigh.

"You have no right to judge me," Cyndriel said angrily. "You've made certain choices in your life, and obviously paid for them. So have I. I think we're more alike than you want to admit. And since when is it a crime to get paid for something you're good at?"

"Depends on what services you're selling."

After that there didn't seem to be anywhere for the conversation to go.

.

Vaska wasn't entirely surprised to see an obelisk emerge from the horizon: everything in this job seemed to revolve around the Temple of the Moon. "And why are we back here?"

"Because it's exactly where they'll have expected us to go," Cyndriel said, grimacing as she pulled down on a large lever over her head, "because Belloc knows I hate the idea of him getting his hands on the Scepter." She now was tugging at the lever with both hands, but it wasn't budging a bit.

"What's wrong?"

"The… controls are starting to fight me, so I'm trying to downshift." She growled in frustration. "I think those guys must have done something. Sabotage."

"Could be." Vaska thought that if Cyndriel was acting the part of an innocent, she was doing a reasonably good job.

Cyndriel pushed at a large yellow button marked RELEASE. "And the hatch locks are frozen. _Shit_." She bit her lip, then leaned forward to peer out of the viewing slits. "We're going to crash, but I think we'll be close to where the aqueducts empty into the river. Be ready to vanish when I blow out the hatch. If anyone's watching it'll look like the cabin exploded, and they'll assume we were vaporized."

"If you don't time it right, we _will_ vaporize."

"I know," Cyndriel snapped. "Look, Vaska, I thought we could… oh, never mind. Once you get out just… go back to wherever you came from."

Vaska felt the cool prickle of a mage's ward skim across her face and arms. "What about Belloc?"

"I'll take care of Belloc." Cyndriel grabbed an overhead handhold, lifting herself out of her seat to put her full weight on the bar of the right steering pedal, and then froze the pedal in place with a chunk of ice. "I don't need help anyway. I'm used to doing things by myself." She turned around in her seat to face the back of the vehicle and began to conjure swirling flames between her hands.

The fireball shot from her hands an instant before the impact.

Thrown to the floor, Vaska scrambled to her feet and phase-shifted, diving through the smoldering hole in the back of the hatch and into the river just as the siege vehicle's fuel tank exploded behind her.

_._

_._

 .

_posted 29 February 2012; rev 24 December 2016_


	6. The Payoff

.

.

It's especially distressing to wake up with no memory of going to sleep.

Vaska was on her side on a large, firm bed – _bed? what happened to the river?_ As she blinked and slowly took in the room – _room? she'd been in the desert!_ – she saw her leathers neatly folded on a small table next to the bed. With effort – her muscles ached as if exhausted – she pulled her arm from under the covers and struggled to push herself upright.

She finally managed to swing her legs over the side of the bed and sit up, but the effort made the room tilt and spin, and black and red sparkles appeared at the edge of her vision. She put her hand up to feel bandages wrapped across her forehead, and as she steadied herself against a second surge of dizziness she became aware of more bandages, tightly wrapping her left shoulder and upper arm, her midriff, one of her feet. No wonder her entire body felt like one enormous bruise.

There was a soft sound behind her, but before he could turn around Cyndriel came into view.

She wasn't as Vaska had last seen her. The grime and sweat and messy hair were gone; now she looked like Queen of the Scarves, wearing an embroidered robe of sheer reddish-blue. Her neck and ears dripped with gold jewelry, and her hair was piled in elaborate curls. "Hey, sleepy," she said, sitting next to Vaska on the bed.

"Where am I?"

"Ramkahen," Cyndriel said. "You don't remember what happened?"

"We were… " Vaska's brain felt as slow and battered as her body. "The siege engine crashed. I went into the river. And then—"

_Cyndriel had told her to get lost, but Vaska didn't intend to be brushed off without discovering what the whole masquerade had been about. She'd secretly shadowed the mage into the temple, watching her slow-fall down to the lowest level before taking duskform to follow. Cyndriel had taken a small pry-bar from her bag, using it to remove a stone medallion from the base of a plinth and uncover a small circle of holes. As Vaska watched from the shadows Cyndriel had taken a stiletto from her bag and inserted it, in what seemed to be a purposeful sequence, into several of the holes. There had been a grinding, crunching sound: Cyndriel had looked around nervously, but when the noise stopped she had continued to poke at the holes, each time in a different sequence, until finally a single brick at the base of the plinth had slid forward. Cyndriel pulled it out, then reached into the space it had left to take something that flashed in the dim light… That's when Vaska had seen the carving of the stone guardian begin to move, its glittering eyes focused on the intruder…_

"You followed me into the temple," Cyndriel said softly, "and saved me."

"I did?"

Cyndriel nodded. "If you hadn't shoved me out of the way I would have been crushed by a falling wall panel."

"I don't remember that part."

"You got knocked down by a lot of rocks when the panel shattered."

And if that was true, Cyndriel could have left her there. She could have portaled away with her treasure and left Vaska to die.

But she hadn't.

"So," Vaska said slowly, "I guess we're even."

"If you want to look at it that way."

Cyndriel sounded… Vaska couldn't really tell what it was. Disappointed? "So you brought me here. Why did you stick around?"

"Well, I had to, don't I?" Cyndriel said. "I had to wait for you to recover so that I could apologize properly."

"Apologize? You didn't do anything you need to apologize for."

"Oh," Cyndriel said, putting her arm carefully around Vaska's waist. "I won't be apologizing for what I _did_. I'll be apologizing for what I didn't do." She dipped her head. "That is, if you're interested in accepting my… apology. Once you're feeling better."

"I think," Vaska said slowly, "I think I'll be _very_ interested in your apology."

.

The late afternoon sun filled the room with a red-gold glow, burnishing their skin to copper as they settled comfortably together in Vaska's bed.

It was too bad that everything else didn't fit together as easily as their bodies did.

Cyndriel's head was on Vaska's shoulder. Her fingers traced lazy arabesques over Vaska's collarbones, then wandered up to trace the scars on Vaska's face. When Vaska started to turn away, ashamed, Cyndriel said softly, "They don't matter to me one way or the other. They're part of the Vaska package." She kissed Vaska's cheek, then brushed her fingers along Vaska's jaw, down her neck, between her breasts, over her ribs, across her hip, and finally pulled her close. "I like the whole package."

"Once seen, never forgotten," Vaska said, wincing at the bitterness in her voice. She had never talked to anyone about her time with Melior, but if she was going to be with Cyndriel it seemed right that the mage should know… everything in the package. "Melior did that to me when I was a child," Vaska began. "As part of my training. He said that because the scars would make me so memorable, I would need to be absolutely certain that no one ever saw my face – because if they did, they couldn't be allowed to live to identify me. It also scared the other kids so much that no one ever wanted to play with me." She swallowed, surprised at how much that memory still hurt. "Melior wanted to make sure that he was my whole world. Father, teacher, only friend."

Tears ran down Cyndriel's face as she rubbed Vaska's back in slow, comforting circles, but she didn't say anything.

"New subject?" Vaska asked.

"Sure."

"You haven't said anything about what you took from the temple. Was it the Scepter?"

"Yes."

"What are you going to do with it?"

"I gave it to King Phaoris as soon as I arrived here," Cyndriel said. "He was very grateful, and insisted that we stay as honored guests until you recovered."

"We'll have to leave some time," Vaska said. "And when we do Belloc and Melior will be waiting."

"You think too much," Cyndriel said. "I'm going to have to do something about that."

And then she did.

.

The sun was edging toward the equinox when a message from one of the King's adjuncts was delivered to their quarters.

"What does it say?" Vaska asked.

"It says," Cyndriel read, "that it is now safe for us to leave Ramkahen, if we wish, because the Vengeance of the Protectors has descended."

"Vengeance of the Protectors?"

"Your guess is as good as mine," Cyndriel shrugged. "There's also a message here, forwarded from the Gadgetzan inn." She handed the sealed tube to Vaska.

It was from Kilram. He'd enclosed a news item. " _A mysterious malady has reportedly struck the esteemed duskwalker Master Melior Ebonfire. Neither regular medicine, arcane magic, nor shaman healers have been able to identify the cause or cure for his "Curse of Stone," as it is being called, although the recent questioning and subsequent disappearance of high-profile archeologist-connoisseur Belloc Brightblade – who is well known as a trafficker in esoteric antiquities – is seen as suspicious. Unnamed sources have claimed that Ebonfire received a number of mysterious "cursed" artifacts from Brightblade shortly before his illness."_

"What are they going to do with him?" Cyndriel asked.

"Melior? I have no idea. Kilram says they should put him on display with other statues."

"This Kilran sounds like a fun guy."

Vaska smiled. "He is."

"So, Winterspring?" Cyndriel said. "Let's go! I love melting snowdrifts to make sexy snowpeople!"

Vaska laughed; at first because she could so easily picture Cyndriel doing such a thing in Winterspring, and then because she looked forward to the sight, and finally because she had a feeling that Kilram was gonna be _tsk_ ing at her far less in future. "You know what the difference is between you and me, Cyn?"

"No." Cyndriel hefted her purple traveling bag.

"Me neither," Vaska said, grinning. "Let's go."

.

_._

.

_~ THE END ~_

.

.

Author's notes are posted in my LiveJournal and Dreamwidth.

.

_ posted 1 March 2012; rev 24 December 2016 _


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